


open at the close

by dnbroughs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Charles is a Muggleborn, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, Erik is a Pureblood, Gryffindor!Erik, M/M, Neither of them know it yet, Pining, Slow Burn, Slytherin!Charles, Updating tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21564916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnbroughs/pseuds/dnbroughs
Summary: The day Edie and Jakob Lehnsherr die, Charles Xavier finds his magic.or, a love story in seven parts
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





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**Author's Note:**

> look at me, writing, as if i have the time
> 
> okay so i'm an absolute slut for harry potter aus so i thought i'd throw my hat into the ring- again. if you've read my other hp au, ignorre everything in it, it'll have nothing to do with the 'canon' of this verse at all, it stands alone.  
> i should (hopefully) have the first full chapter up by the end of this week but i thought i'd get the prologue out of the way to get the ball rolling.  
> as always, comments & kudos are appreciated. i hope u enjoy! <3

The day Edie and Jakob Lehnsherr die, Charles Xavier finds his magic. He screams and screams and screams, falling from his seat at the dinner table, grabbing onto the tablecloth and bringing down his mother’s china with him as he goes. First there’s blinding pain and then there’s voices and voices and voices and none of them will stop, and his mother is looking at him with fear and concern but Charles knows she’s more concerned with the state of the carpet, and Kurt, oh dear God,  _ Kurt- _

None of that matters right now, because there’s a boy living six hundred miles away and he’s  _ hurting. _ His mind is a beacon of fire and brimstone, steel and gossamer, light and joy and despair, and it  _ burns  _ through Charles, leaves him shaking and crying and aching, and then, before everything turns black, he lets a tear fall and a flame extinguish. 

“Alles is gut.” He whispers to the carpet, and closes his eyes.

* * *

They’re buried on a Tuesday and it rains. Erik wears the suit he wore for his sister’s Bat Mitzvah, and Ruth gripped his hand in a crushing grip when they both realised that, with their parents gone, the chances of him wearing it to his own were slim to none. 

He didn’t cry, not as they lowered the coffins, not as they read the prayers, not even as they raised their wands. His grief was a mercurial thing, black and heavy and hot that lay sticky and dormant in the pit of his stomach until it reared its head and tried to bring him to his knees, yet no matter how hard he wanted to crumble he stood tall, letting the rain soak him to the bone, doing his Mama and Papa proud. He ignored the whispers, the murdered pity and the pats on the shoulder. He went to bed as soon as it was done, and he was young enough that people let him, and still he didn't cry. Then Ruth returned to Durmstrang, and he roared and roared and roared and he'd never thought he'd stop and he'd never thought he'd resurface and he didn't know how to go on. The only thing that kept him from sinking under the weight of his hurt was a curious, pulsing hope in the far, dusty corners of his mind and the feeling that, no matter how much the universe proved he was, he never quite felt alone.

Their shop was boarded up after a week. The artefacts it had housed were sold off, and Erik lamented the speed with which  _ Eisenhardt’s  _ windows were covered with wood and the door was bolted shut. Half of the profits were split between Erik and Ruth, and the other half was to go to whoever took up the role of caretaker. So far he had been carted from aunt to uncle to friend to stranger, but he never stayed in one place for long, each one having some excuse to cart him off. Perhaps the money wasn’t enough. Perhaps Erik wasn’t enough.

He turned eleven in the April. Ruth managed to steal him away north to Durmstrang for the weekend, and they traipse around the city and eat sweets and they laugh at the funny looks they get for speaking German, two young children so far from home, and all of a sudden the three years between them is nothing, because neither of them have parents any more and both of them are alone, but not when they’re together. Ruth hugs him more than she has in her entire life, that weekend, but it’s not like he minds. She ruffles his hair at the train station and slips him a couple of galleons for the sweet trolley and then she’s gone too, countries and life times between them and when he returns, it’s his Uncle Georg that’s stuck with him now.

In August, he waits for an owl from Durmstrang, but what he gets is Professor Shaw and a ticket departing from Kings Cross Station, and everything changes.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr (stnbroughs) or twitter (charlesxavirs) !


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